“This is worth considering, certainly,” Master Thal’darah murmured, pacing. “We may be encountering a kind of bond the Cenarion Circle never recorded or tried to undo. If this is a bond created by fate, then nothing we three try here will change it. How did you say it, Drella? Gifts should be given in kind. Perhaps the service young Aramar Thorne has performed for you must be performed back, to complete a sort of circle.”
Aramar had said nothing, scratching at his neck and shuffling from foot to foot. She could feel through the air and through their bond that he was confused, and nervous. Drella smiled at him, hoping that would help.
“So … the bond can’t be broken yet?” Aram said slowly. He didn’t look upset about it, and that made Drella very happy. She had worried, just for an instant, that the news would make him sad. After all, they had come all this way to undo the bond, and now that just didn’t seem possible.
“The two of you have an intense connection, more intense than I anticipated,” Master Thal’darah explained. “The thread between you is strong, so strong that none of our magic can break it, apparently.”
“Yes,” Drella agreed, beaming at Aramar. His cheeks had gone unbelievably red. See? she thought. Red really is a nice color! “I can feel how strong it is between us. Do you, Aramar? Do you feel as strongly about me as I do about you?”
For a long time he just blinked at her, still red, his lips parting as if he might sigh or burp. Then he moved his head, gradually at first, then swiftly. His arm linked tighter with hers, and he took a big swallow, then said, “Of course, Drella, I—I feel the same way. About the bond, I mean. It’s … strong. Really strong.”
Master Thal’darah regarded them both, chuckling, a few leaves falling out of his beard as he clapped his hands together and shrugged. “Then our work here is complete, and I shall write to the Moonglade at once. Still, Aramar, I think it would be best if the two of you stayed for a while longer. We should study this strange phenomenon as best we can. This is quite the development. Quite the development indeed.”
Quite the development didn’t describe or encompass the mental quake Aram was experiencing. He left the glade with his head spinning and the skin under his collar hot enough to scorch.
I can feel how strong it is between us. Do you, Aramar? Do you feel as strongly about me as I do about you?
Why did those words make him feel so … so … itchy? Itchy everywhere. He thought he might sing or vomit, or maybe both at the same time. His feelings for Drella, once an annoying little voice in the back of his head, swelled to a screaming chorus. Had she just admitted that she liked him? It didn’t make sense. Drella liked everyone. This was just more of her characteristic friendliness, surely. But he couldn’t get the sensation of her arm linked in his out of his mind, or the way she smiled down at him with such force, as if all the contentment and bliss in the world shone out through her teeth.
“What happened to you?”
Makasa. He stopped dead in his tracks. Their courses clashed as she left the inn and he sprinted toward it. The other sounds of the Overlook were far away, as if he had been left completely alone with his thoughts. And now, Makasa. Both of her dark brows leapt to her hairline.
“Brother, why are you sweating like that? Do you have a fever—”
Aram shook his head, trying to collect his senses. “N-No, I’m fine. Where were you going in such a hurry?”
“To find you. We need to come up with a plan. A better plan than ‘wait and see.’ But you should get some rest if you’re feeling sick.” She strode up to him, pressing her hand against his forehead.
“Stop it”—he pushed her off—“I’m just … flustered.”
Makasa snorted, crossing both arms over her chest. For the most part, her wounds had healed, thanks to the tending of the Sentinels, and she moved much more freely. Aram tried to dodge around her so he could disappear into the inn and soak his head, but Makasa caught him by the elbow, swinging him around. Never before had she looked more sisterly. Or more menacing.
“Wait. What happened? Your face is all red. Spill it.”
“The rituals aren’t working,” he said, hoping the diversion would work. Makasa squinted, and he hurried to deepen the story. “There’s some kind of … block? I don’t know. Do I look like a druid?”
“You look like a cooked hen. Your cheeks are going to explode if they get any redder.”
“The point is,” Aram half shouted, “we do need a plan. I just don’t know what we should do next. Drella and I can’t undo the bond, but Master Thal’darah wants me to stay put. He wants to study us or something. For the Circle.”
Makasa rolled her eyes. “Oh, that is not happening. If this bond stuff is over with, then we need to get moving. The Crustacean’s diversion won’t last forever, and Malus will be spitting mad once he realizes we fooled him. He’ll put all of his effort into finding us, and when he does? Well.” She drew her hand like a blade across her throat.
“He already knows.”
Her brown eyes widened like an owl’s, and even her jaw went slack. “What?”
“Malus. They caught up to the Crustacean. That voice in your head? It showed me all of it. The crew, everyone, they’re gone. Gone because of us. Me. It’s a debt I can never repay, Makasa; they gave their lives to buy us time. Since you’re having visions now, too, you can look forward to the terrible ones, the ones that make you realize you’re failing your father and your destiny and the world. Miserably. I should know, the Light’s been talking to me for a lot longer than you.”
Makasa looked ashen, but she didn’t say anything in response to his outburst. She immediately turned back to the inn.
Aram hurried to catch up with her longer strides. “Where are you going?”
“To pack. Look, we need to hurry if Malus is already wise to our ruse.” Sighing, she brushed by him.
“I know, Makasa. Don’t you think I know?”
Aramar hung his head, defeated. Guilt swiftly replaced confusion. Drella and her feelings for him were shoved far, far away. He felt just as feverish, but also ill. All those people had died for them and he had been content to sit there, collecting moss, while Drella and Galena at least did something. Even if it didn’t work, they had tried. What had he done?
“There you are, Aramar. I was hoping to find you.”
Not now, Iyneath.
He wrangled his temper under control and put on a thin smile, turning to face the one-eyed night elf, who looked, surprisingly, excited. His smile soothed Aram for a moment, and then the boy saw the letter in the elf’s hand. Was it possible?
“The owl I sent to Northwatch Expedition Base returned this evening,” he said, holding out the folded parchment to Aram. It was still sealed, and more thrilling, he could see that it was addressed to him. “It is the nearest outpost from here, but I will let you know if the others respond, too.”
“Thank you,” Aram breathed, taking the letter.
“It could mean nothing,” Iyneath warned him. “But I do hope you hear what you want to hear.”
The Sentinel gave a half bow and turned, disappearing into the trees at the edges of the outpost. Aram glanced around, completely alone, and then scurried inside, up the stairs, and into the room he shared with Makasa. Even from there, he could hear Makasa shouting at Murky and Hackle to prepare their things. At least he would have a bit of time alone, and know to hide the evidence once the panic died down.
Heart beating wildly, Aram tore at the letter, reading as quickly as he could, a lump growing bigger and bigger in his throat as he did.
To Master Aramar Thorne,
I received your inquiry with great pleasure, young sir, and it is with equal delight that I can inform you that I know your uncle, Silverlaine Thorne, very well. My name is Morris Wheeler, and I am an Alliance infantry officer serving at Northwatch Expedition Base. Silverlaine and I both served for a time in Stormwind, and then later as a detachment in Westfall. He is a man of great quality, loyal and honest. Since our last
meeting, we have kept in regular contact, and he is, at present, not far from here, his last letter posted from Ashenvale. I have already dispatched a messenger to his last known whereabouts, and I urge you to meet me here, at the base, where it will be my great honor to make an introduction.
Yours in friendship,
Morris Wheeler
Aram stared down at the letter, his hands shaking. His uncle was alive, then, and only a few days from his current location. It almost seemed too good to be true, and for a moment, he remained convinced it was. According to Iyneath, the area near the expedition base was swarming with Horde. Ashenvale had been hit hard recently by forces from the Barrens, and his uncle could easily be killed before going south. Still, it filled Aram with a spark of hope, one that almost banished the guilty cloud over his head.
But the relief was short-lived. He closed his eyes, folding the letter and holding it to his chest. Makasa’s shouting in the next room brought with it the horrible reminder that they had dawdled too long, and now it was all for nothing. He and Drella hadn’t accomplished their goal, and an entire crew of men and women had perished, burned alive or cut down by Malus and his minions. This was his fault, he knew; he was the source of all this suffering. He set down the letter and then pulled out the compass around his neck and the hilt of the Diamond Blade. Side by side, compass and blade, he put his hands over the cherished items and felt, deep in his heart, what he must do.
Nobody else need suffer on his account. Those same doubting thoughts from earlier now took a firm hold in his mind. Maybe they were right; maybe he had already failed. If the Light was speaking to Makasa, too, then that could be proof that he was no longer some important chosen one. With her strength and her courage, maybe she was the better choice. But he could still play a part.
They needed to know more of the blade and his father’s mission. Greydon Thorne was dead, and while Aram trusted and admired his companions, they were, after all, just children like him. Uncle Silverlaine would know what to do. It would hurt—Aram would be lonely and full of doubts—but at least it would be action. And if he failed? Well, he would be the one to go down, not anyone volunteering on his behalf.
Fate has other plans for you, the voice had said in his dream. You have no need to fear.
That voice had never let him down before. And so he would go, he thought, and he would try not to fear. Aram put his compass and blade hilt away, deciding, then and there, that his own heart, and not a compass, would choose the right path.
* * *
Something was horribly, terribly wrong. All wrong. Taryndrella bolted upright, a few stray blades of grass and leaves floating down from her hair as she shook herself awake. Pain. She sensed pain. And panic.
But how could that be? She felt calm, at peace, in fact, resolved. Master Thal’darah and Galena could study her and Aram, grow to learn more about their bond, and then once they were satisfied, she and the others could continue helping Aram on his quest. But now he was in turmoil. Turmoil. That was a new word, one Galena had taught her. She found it strange, but it did fit what she sensed now bubbling up in Aram. Never before had their bond alerted her in such a way. It felt like a dozen bells were ringing all at once in her head, and she would never sleep at all if that kept happening. The clearing was still, peaceful. Night had fallen hours ago, and besides some faint snoring from inside the inn, everything was silent. The dark comfort of a warm night settled over all, draping it in the lullaby of frogs and crickets, of the wisps weaving softly through the wood.
Galena slept not far from where Drella liked to sleep, under the trees and moons, on a heap of boughs and leaves next to the moonwell. The tauren slept deeply, no doubt exhausted from their trying ritual that day. Master Thal’darah was somewhere inside the inn, and a handful of guards roamed the periphery of the clearing. Standing carefully, Drella blinked up at the stars. It was a cloudless night, and she could see well by the moons and starlight.
The panic and pain in her mind had a clear direction, and Drella knew she had to follow it. Galena would fret if she woke, and so Drella went as quietly as she could. The guards would be a problem. They would alert the outpost the moment they spotted someone fleeing the area. But Aram was somewhere outside the boundaries of the Overlook. How had he gone unnoticed?
It wouldn’t do. She had to follow. Oh, but Galena would be furious when she found out Drella had left. The druids wanted to study their bond much more closely, and it was rude to just run away with no explanation! How could Aramar leave his friends behind? How could he leave her?
The solution occurred to her as she slid silently across the clearing, reaching the less guarded pathway leading north. Most of the attacks from the Horde and the drakes emanated from the south, and so the way north saw less attention. Aramar must have slipped out that way. Drella would find him, convince him to return to the Overlook, and then everything would be right and good again. Galena would not fret, Master Thal’darah would not be offended, and their little fellowship would remain united.
Simple enough, she decided, then froze, one hoof snapping a twig clean in half. It seemed deafening, the crack, and she cast her gaze around nervously, expecting to hear a guard bursting through the tree line. Footsteps. Soft. Curious. Someone was coming. Drella made a soft squeak of defiance and sprinted under the arch on the northern path, then swerved at once into the woods and picked her way through the dense trees. The footsteps continued, though they sounded more distant, and so she continued on, following the pain that radiated on the horizon like a broken heart.
Aramar was in immense anguish. She hoped that it wouldn’t last, and that seeing her, seeing a kindly friend, would ease his torment. This was what their fate bond was all about, she thought—nobody could do absolutely everything on their own. Everyone needed a loyal friend.
The footsteps drew near again and Drella forced herself not to call out. It was ever so hard not to just explain what was going on! But she could solve it, of course, before dawn broke and everyone began to worry. Why raise even a single brow in concern when she could simply retrieve Aramar on her own? They were bonded; he wouldn’t run away from her without good reason. This was just a misunderstanding, one she would soon put right.
Whatever followed her wasn’t giving up. The Overlook’s guards were keen and well-trained, and Drella began to vary her steps, trying to shake the pursuer. Faster and faster she ran, hearing those dreaded footsteps match her pace. There was a low growl then and it did not sound friendly.
Oh dear.
Drella crashed through the woods, forgetting her silent steps, breaking through to a narrow path that wound into a set of tumbled ruins. The leaves and bushes rattled behind her, the night air cooler as she ran and ran. That growl came again, louder, and then a snarl, and Drella gave a shriek of fear, turning finally to look at what had chased her into the road.
“Look out!”
It was too late. She had swiveled to look at precisely the wrong time, sending her careening blindly into a body. They smacked together with twin cries of surprise, and then they went down, hard to the ground. Drella didn’t know what was more urgent to confront, whatever she had just landed on or the thing snapping at her hooves! She pushed herself up quickly, and gasped, finding a blade swinging in front of her face.
Aramar.
He was covered in bits of dried leaves and mud, no doubt from their fall, but already he had leapt to his feet, brandishing his cutlass at …
A young twilight runner. No murderous beast, just a tiny but fast pursuer. Drella giggled, watching as the feline, which had lost all its vinegar the moment it was faced with two defiant creatures, gave a startled “mrr-owl” before hunching up and slinking away.
“What are you doing here?” Aram knelt, helping her up. She pulled a twig out of his hair and flicked it away. She was excessively glad to see him, and also glad to have made it onto the road unscathed.
“Finding you, of course. Hello!”
“Sh-hh,” he hissed. “K
eep it down. Do you want to wake the entire outpost?”
“Sure! I will let them know that I have found you, and now you will be coming back,” she chirped, taking him by the hand.
“No, Drella, it doesn’t work like that. I’m leaving.” He carefully worked his hand out of her grip, sheathing the cutlass and hefting his pack before turning toward the northern road. The road to unknown things.
“Do you not like us anymore?” she asked, taking a single step after him.
“That’s not the— Of course I like you,” he said. Then softly, “I—I happen to like you a lot. But there’s something I have to do on my own. I keep messing this up, keep getting all of you and other people caught up in my problems. It shouldn’t be that way. That’s why I have to go. How did you find me, anyway?”
Drella trotted up beside him, studying his face closely in the moonlight. There was no smile there, not any she could see, and his brows arced down toward his eyes. “Our bond, I could sense you leaving. I do not want you to go.”
“I have to,” he insisted.
“Then I will go with you!”
“Drella, no. I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m flattered that you want to join me, but it’s too dangerous. Listen, the ship, the Crustacean?”
She nodded.
“The one that was meant to trick Malus? Well, it did, for a little while. But he figured it out. He tracked them down and he killed everyone on board. Everyone. That blood? It’s on my hands.”
Drella frowned, concerned, and swiftly reached out, grabbing him by the hands.
“Your hands are dirty, yes, but I can see no blood.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” Aram said, sounding tired. “It means they’re dead because of me. I don’t want to let anyone else get hurt like that. Do you understand? I want to protect you. All of you.”
Drella watched him walk through the starlight away from her, his steps more resolute and steady than she had seen them in a long time. His shoulders and back, straight as a healthy tree, were unbowed, his head tall and proud. He meant it. Drella’s lower lip quivered, and she hurried after him, feeling the pain in his heart as keenly as if it were her own.
The Shining Blade Page 6